The thing about having (only) two kids is the emotional roller coaster of life’s milestones. There is no buffer between your oldest and your youngest. You have your first baby and your last baby. And this experience of only first and lasts is simultaneously beautiful and awful. There doesn’t feel like there is any time to catch your breath. You make it through one phase of childhood (and parenting) to rush into the next big thing at a record pace. I know that mothers that have more than two kids, or even just one, are very well aware of these milestones. Hell, my sister has a kid starting college and a kid starting kindergarten in the fall. I know how hard this can be for all of us!
I’m just having a hard time with this “oldest baby” and “youngest baby” reality.
This week I find myself navigating through this “no man’s land” between horrible and wonderful in ways I wasn’t quite expecting. My “baby” turns 13 on Tuesday and enters official teenager “I’m so old” status. My oldest will be “formally introduced” to the college world and her home away from home for the next several years coming this fall.
As you can imagine, I am not even close to being ready for any of this. Holy crap how am I already here?!?
I keep waiting for this to be easier. I am constantly telling myself that I’m overreacting and that I’m a hot mess of crazy. And even if I am all of those things, I’m also a mom who really likes her kids. I *LIKE* having them around. Yes, even as teenagers. My husband and I have (somehow) managed to raise some really rad humans and I’m just not ready to let them go. Even though I know (I KNOW!) that’s part of being a parent. Isn’t this what we’ve been working toward? Raising these awesome people to, one day, be awesome adults doing their awesome thing?
This has always been the (inevitable) goal. I just need my heart to catch up with what my mind already knows. But it’s probably not going to be anytime this week.